


Nothing less than Complicated

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drama, Family, Family Secrets, Feels, Friendship, Gen, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Loki's Kids, Mischief, Mpreg, New York City, Post Mpreg, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>	“You do realize that what you’re doing is insanely illegal and borderline stalker-ish, right?”</i>
    <br/>
    <i>The voice caused Luke to jump violently in his chair, nearly falling backwards in surprise. Terrified he turned around, hoping this was some type of college prank, hoping his ears had messed up and that was not Tony ‘effing Stark standing behind him.</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Nope.</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Luke could never be that lucky.</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>Loki's son was destined to have it difficult.
            </blockquote>





	1. One Man's Loss

**_Sixteen years ago…_ **

            The whole situation, both secretaries agreed, was peculiar.

            Hours before dawn, the waiting room was empty. The two women sat at their desks, a blonde and a brunette, chatting with ease; only those expecting arrived at ungodly hours such as this, and, even then, there wasn’t much paperwork or sitting around to be done. The timing was the first on an extensive list of odd happenings.

            A young man, no older than 25, arrived with an infant. There was no woman—just the man and a sleeping newborn that appeared mere hours old. The man’s dark hair was untamed, the women noted, his body coated in a thick layer of sweat. As he signed in at the reception desk, his grip on the child tightened protectively, untrustingly, as if daring the ladies to separate them. When he looked up, the secretaries found themselves trembling involuntarily beneath his gaze; his eyes were a rich, vibrant green that remained sharp and alert despite the underlying tired dark bags. The man stood on guard, waiting for something to happen, and neither woman dared imagine what. The spell was broken as he addressed the two in an untraceable accent, “How soon can this child receive the medical attention that is standard for one fresh from the womb?”

            Neither secretary realized the breath they were keeping in until their shoulders relaxed.

            “Do you mean a newborn checkup?”  the blonde was the first to reply, needing a couple seconds to comprehend the man’s unusual speech.

            “Ah, yes. That’s the phrase I was seeking,” The young man nodded, “Is there a way this newborn checkup could be performed before dawn? Preferably sooner.”

            The blonde offered a small smile. “Of course. I’ll tell the nurses to prepare a room.” She rolled over to the phoning station, finally in her comfort zone. For some reason, the longer the man looked at her, the tinier she felt.

            “Are there any matters I must personally attend to prior to this, ah, unscheduled appointment?” His question was directed at the brunette still seated behind the counter.

            The secretary swallowed, wetting her throat. “There are some medical papers, but you can fill them out in the room, if you’d like. Sit down. They usually don’t take too long to set up, but it’s late and you look like you could use a rest.” Those brilliant eyes scanned her warily, for what she was unsure, before he accepted her offer and, with more grace than most, plopped down onto the nearest plastic chair.

Curiosity getting the better of her, the brunette read his name off the chart. _Luke._ No last name, just ‘Luke’ written in intricate, elegant handwriting she didn’t think existed outside of the Declaration of Independence. Impressive. For someone who looked like he’d been run over by a motorcycle group, the man, she had to admit, had style. Apart from appearance, she realized, he held himself in a way that demanded respect. _Almost like a prince._ More than likely, he’d been up all night while his wife/girlfriend gave birth. And now that she thought about it…

“Sir? Mr. Luke?”  His eyes flicked up in her direction, the only outward sign of acknowledgement. “Does the baby, he, have a name?”

“No, not at present.”

She, stumbled, biting her tongue as she fought for the right words. “It’s unusual for a guy to come here alone with a kid.”

“Is it?” His brows furrowed. “I was not aware.”

“I mean,” the woman back-peddled, although she herself wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to back out of. “With a child that young, the mother’s the one who typically comes.” Then the realization hit her. “She’s, um.. The mother’s okay, right? That must’ve taken a lot out of her, giving birth… Is she resting?”

He let out a small, humorless chuckle. “That depends on the definition of this word, ‘okay’. “

Before she could ask for clarification, a white clad nurse summoned the man and child, leading them into the hallway. It took several turns past several bland and blank walls before the nurse stopped in front of a room. “Wait here while I get Dr. Philips.”

 

Once she left, the man took a look down at his sleeping son. _Son._ The man shook his head sadly. He couldn’t afford to think like that. This child couldn’t be his in more than blood. As much as he wanted to just take the boy and leave, he knew that it was impossible.

With a final, forlorn glance as his— _the_ \- child, the man vanished. He was gone before the doctor was halfway down the hall, the only proof of his existence was a small note and the loud, piercing wail of a child.

* * *

 

            Nancy and Daniel Peterson were heartbroken. Only hours prior, they were a happy, expecting couple; now they sat, morning a child that would never be born. For over nine years, they had tried—now both reaching their mid-thirties- and when the test finally came out positive for pregnant, the couple was ecstatic.

            “I don’t understand,” Nancy wept into her husband’s chest. “T-there were no compl-plications… What did I do wrong?”

            “Shhh,” Daniel whispered into her hair. “It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.” Yet, no matter how many times he repeated it, he never truly believed it. He knew how much Nancy had wanted a child, to cherish and love, to watch grow and learn. They mourned for hours, yet the feeling of failure never lessened and the pain never vanished.

            There was a soft knock on the door before a doctor entered. “Sorry to intrude in your time of grieving,” he sighed.  “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, there is a child, a newborn, desperately needing a home. I know this is sudden, but are you two willing to adopt a boy today?”

            Daniel gaped. “What? Is this a joke?”

            The doctor shook his head. “Not in the slightest.” He sat himself down, preparing for a long explanation. “A man came in with a newborn baby boy about an hour ago. He left the kid on a patient table, wrote a note and left. No personal info, no forms filled out. Nothing. We tried looking and checked the cameras, but there’s not a trace to be followed. Here,” he handed Nancy the folded letter. “See for yourself.”

_In the third floor of this hospital, there is a couple desperately struggling to bring a child into the world. A kind, patient woman and a warm, thoughtful man wanting nothing more than a son or daughter._

_This boy has no family, so let him make one with you. He has no home, so let him share yours. He has no name, so create one. He has no past, so let him be your future._

            “Oh, my God,” Nancy gasped.

            “Desperate people do desperate things,” the doctor frowned. “The ladies up front told me he seemed pretty beat up, but all there. None of the typical signs of a drug addict or mentally ill. Apparently his wife died in childbirth, and, from what Lauren described, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who wanted to just give up his son.”

            Daniel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, that someone was going to appear out of the shadows, laughing his head off, and scream ‘You just got punk’d’. This was all too perfect.

            “Can we see him, the baby?” Nancy was uncertain, afraid that this was just some big misunderstanding, afraid to get her hopes up.

            The doctor smiled. “Certainly.”

            When he returned, child in arms, the Petersons had already made their decision. Holding the baby just finalized it.

            “He’s beautiful…” a tear crept down Nancy’s cheek as curious green eyes met her brown ones.

            “From what we can tell he was born about four hours ago, between 1 and 2:00a.m.” _Around the same time as your son died_ was left unspoken.

            Daniel addressed the doctor. “The man, do you know anything about him? A name, or..?”

            “The only personal information is that he signed in as ‘Luke’.”

            “Luke,” Nancy looked up from the small babe in her arms. “Our son’s name is Luke.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

_After finding the perfect couple, the man left the hospital. He left Midgard, traveling through a gate only he knew of to a small cavern that was his and his alone. There he sat, completely breaking down the thick wall of illusions until there was only him, a tall, thin, ragged man trying to convince himself that everything would work out, that he’d one day be able to return for the boy._

Lies. _Nothing was that easy, at least not with him. He was Loki, God of Mischief. He was chaos personified, the living embodiment of trouble and twists. Unless he was the one directing the mayhem, Loki couldn’t even begin to fathom what would come next—_ the weird stuff just always happened to him.

_Nine months ago, for instance, began as an escape from Thor and the Idiots Three. He came to Midgard frequently, in various disguises and aliases, and was fascinated by the mortals concept of science. Unlike the Asgardians, they focused their energy on technology rather than magic; it would take hundreds of human lifetimes to even begin to cover half of the knowledge Loki had acquired throughout his time. The most notable inventor, a man who interested Loki almost as much as his creations, was Tony Stark._

_And, thus, a child._

_See, there was no woman. There was only Loki in the guise of a curvilicious brunette, just another of the many pretty faces at another of Stark’s many formal gatherings. He—rather, she—started the evening with a friendly conversation leading to a private discussion in a less open environment and matters just escalated from there._

_Imagine Loki’s surprise three months after that incredibly memorable night when he found himself, fully male last he checked, expecting._

_He may be young (for a god) but Loki wasn’t naïve enough to think that any son of his would be accepted into Asgard, at least not for a decade or so after Thor’s coronation. It would cause confusion -put the realm in political distress- and Loki couldn’t afford to deal with that. His magic was enough to make him frowned upon, and a child resulting from that magic would be shunned. Hated. Feared, maybe. For both of them, separation was the only solution._

_Loki knew he couldn’t get attached to his—no, the child, but, as he snuggled in to a cave hidden from Heimdall’s sight, it was difficult not to. The more he watched his belly grow, round and heavy, the harder it became to hate his unborn heir.  Logically, hating the source of his discomfort was natural, but, logically, he shouldn’t have been pregnant in the first place._

_But giving away the boy still hurt. The child was in a good home, Loki reminded himself and than mentally punched himself for caring at all. He’d sealed the child’s magic, so there was no chance of him living anything but an ordinary Migardian life-- one without his birth mother. Realizing that he was no longer needed, Loki returned to Asgard._

_One year later, that tug in his chest stopped trying to pull him back to Midgard._

_Two years later, Loki had fully accepted the reality that his son was no longer his._

_Four years later, he no longer found himself periodically wondering about the boy’s wellbeing._

_Seven years later, he’d forgotten what it was like to hold his child._

_Eleven years later, Loki forgot he bore a child at all._

_Fourteen years later, he fell._

* * *

 

            Only two years after the alien attack in New York, the city was devoid of all traces of any battle. It had been rebuilt quickly, mostly funded by Stark Industries, and people all but forced themselves to forget.

            Despite all the media coverage the disaster received, no one wanted to ask the questions that mattered: the _whos_ and the _whys_. Most were content with the crappy cover-ups spouting some bullshit about a mutant training program on a satellite that went out of control. Most didn’t question the obvious holes in the report, satisfied with the knowledge that, for the time being, they were safe.

            Luke Peterson was not most people.

            

             At present, he sat in the back of the local library, hunched over his worn out laptop as he read report after report confirming a vast majority of his theories and, at last, the truth. After literally _months_ of digging the web in his free time, Luke had finally gotten a lead: SHEILD. Since it was a government agency, his chances of discovering any leaks in their system were insanely slim. At least, with his current resources it was. A couple weeks ago, after he’d finally accepted defeat, Luke had an epiphany: Iron Man.

            Tony Stark seemed like the kind of person who would keep tabs on the organization, and after a slightly complicated hack into Stark Industry’s network, he’d found a back route path to the data and successfully obtained more information than he could possibly have questions for retaining to the Attack, the Avengers and nearly everything in between. 

            The knowledge he’d gathered was almost overwhelming, but Luke continued reading. These were the answers he’d been searching for. He _had_ to know. His family and friends might be fine with eating up lies, but Luke would not settle for less than the truth. And that is exactly what he got.

            However, some of the records, made him stop. A crazed brother of Thor? A magical mind control staff and a cube powerful enough to energize the entire world for centuries? A failed attempt to nuke Manhattan? Worm holes and destruc--

            “You do realize that what you’re doing is insanely illegal and borderline stalker-ish, right?”

            The voice caused Luke to jump violently in his chair, nearly falling backwards in surprise. Terrified he turned around, hoping this was some type of college prank, hoping his ears had messed up and that was _not_ Tony ‘effing Stark standing behind him.

            Nope.

            Luke could never be that lucky.

 

 

 

**linebreaklinebreaklinebreaklinebreak**

            Luke was the luckiest person he knew, because, not only had he _not_ gotten destroyed by an enraged billionaire with the highest tech armor in the country, he was able to return to school the next morning, bruise-free and well enough to tell the tale.

            Oh, and he’d earned himself an internship directly under Tony Stark.

            The logic was pretty screwed up, something about being useful, but Luke was grateful either way. He was allowed to return home, on the condition that he and his parents would visit Stark Tower to discuss details the following Saturday. Luke was fairly certain that the billionaire had bugged his phone when he wasn’t looking, so not cooperating was hardly an option.

            Luke shamelessly texted his friends anyway.

            Exactly four seconds after arriving at Midtown High (yes, he checked), Luke was cornered by America Chavez and Harry Osborn in homeroom. The two were intimidating in their own ways: Harry, with his father’s high influence and status; America with her fists that could give even the Hulk a run for his money. If they didn’t happen to be two of his good friends, Luke would have been terrified.

            “I read your text _three times_ and still can’t figure out what you were trying to say.”

            “Yeah, Luke. I’m not sure if autocorrect flipped out on you again; there’s no way you ran into _Tony Stark_ in the _library_ and got an _internship._ Did you mean to say you ran into info about Tony Stark’s laboratory while on the Internet?”

            The two were all but drooling in anticipation, and Luke couldn’t help messing with them.

            “Where’s M.J. and Peter? I really don’t want to have to tell the story more than once…”

            "Peter? I thought you two hated each other."

            "Oh, don't worry. The hate's still mutual." Luke brushed off the implications of friendship with a wave of his hand. "I just felt that waiting for him would be a good idea."

            America threw her hands up in frustration. “Seriously?! It’ll be lunch time before Peter gets here!”

            Her dark haired friend threw her his trademark, shit-eating grin. “Exactly.”

            “Luke Peterson, you are a terrible person,” Harry gave an amused smile. “Though, I wonder where Mary-Jane is. She’s always early.”

            “She’s probably printing out more Spiderman photos to add to her collection,” America offered.

            Harry snorted. “Pfft. Please. M.J. isn’t _that_ bad. I mean, it’s obvious she has the hots for the Spidey, but who doesn’t?”

            “I don’t have the hots for men swinging around in spandex,” Luke objected, just as Miss Patriotism inaudibly muttered, “You haven’t seen her art binder.”

            “Of course you don’t. We all know you dig rich guys in full-plate armor with lasers,” Harry teased.

            Luke raised his arms in mock defense. “Woah! Woah! That was a one-time thing, okay? Doctor Doom’s hot and all, but I’m more of a Thor kinda guy.”

            “You would pick the guy with the useless weapon.” America rolled her eyes.

            “For your information Miss America Chavez, getting hit in the head with a hammer _hurts._ Like, really badly.”

            “And you know this how?” Harry questioned.

            Luke gave his friend a hard look before replying with the obvious answer: “I have two younger siblings.”

            Before the three could continue their conversation, the first bell rang, school started, and life continued onward.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            A Everywhere he went, there were whispers. Whispers of treacherous acts, talk of a would-be conqueror and curses aimed at his back. Alongside these slanderous rumors spoken in muffled tones, laced with hatred and poorly-camouflaged disgust, was a name: Loki. It was a familiar name, and the boy knew it well, but the depictions following him throughout the lengthy palace halls made its counterpart  a complete stranger.

            The young Asgardian was well acquainted with Loki. He should be, he figured,  as he was one of very few who truly understood the man. Those mischievous green eyes glinting with humor, the dark, almost pit-black hair perfectly contrasting with porcelain skin, that silver tongue that spoke the truth in lies smirking back at him every time he looked in the mirror.

            "Loki, what have you done?" he--Loki- asked himself aloud. Deep in his private chambers, he sat alone. The rooms were the same as he remembered them, but many of the objects were foreign. Much like himself and the people around him; it was as if all his memories told only half the story and the harsher, more important parts, were left out.

            The only thing Loki knew for certain was that he wasn't the Loki that sought to destroy Jotenheim and claim the throne for his own. He wasn't the angry prince who sought domination on Midgard, and he wasn't the failed-god whose army was sourly defeated. He was a Loki of past-- a new Loki?-- with the appearance, abilities and memories of a child. 

            He waited for Thor's return for what seemed like eans and, as hard as he willed it not to, his mind kept whirling that same question, over and over in a seemingly endless loop?

            _"What kind of monster had I become?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crud... Revising this took way longer than it should have, but it's finally done.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading~  
> R&R

**Author's Note:**

> ...and that's chapter one!
> 
> This is my first story here, and I honestly don't know what to say, so thanks for reading and bearing with me! If you spot any grammatical, spelling or other errors, please tell me.
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
